Sweet Surrender
by Arien Belthil
Summary: A young chorus girl finds herself in the grip of the Opera Ghost. She fights a losing battle as she finds herself falling under his seductive spell. Not fluff. ErikOther Woman. Rated R for future situations and maybe strong language.
1. Guess Who's Back?

**Disclaimer: If I owned Phantom of the Opera, I would not be here. I would be dancing in my large mansion while talking to Gerard Butler on the phone.**

**Anyways, this is mainly based on the movie, but I am basing Erik's deformity on the book. The left side will be modeled after the delectable Gerard Butler, because I OWN him. Co-own, actually. With my friend Lisa. waves to Lisa and Sara, and laments that Carla hasn't seen The Hotness of Gerry and the Greatness of PotO**

**I spent three weeks on this thing, and accidentally erased it twice, so if you don't like it, don't flame me, give constructive criticism.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 1 - Guess Who's Back?**

Ah, July in Paris: the warmth, the sun, and the odd smell of overripe fruit in the market. Paris, that beautiful city where "a young man's fancy turns to love." Or hate. All depends on whom you're dealing with. Paris is also that place where scandal is king and gossip is queen, where if a man is seen with a lady, they are immediately assumed lovers, where if a person is secretive, they are slandered by all. But hey, it has pretty clothes and pretty buildings, so no one's complaining.

Of particular interest in higher society this summer was the re-opening of Le Opera Populaire. It had been three years since the tragic incident involving the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny, née Daae, and the renowned Phantom of the Opera. Now, the new owners of the opera house, Monsieur Ambler and Monsieur Follett, had restored the place to its former glory, or as some whispered, surpassing it. The old managers, Firmin and Andre, had disappeared. They were rumored to be living in the countryside together, raising pigs, trying to forget their pathetic attempts at running an opera house.

The first performance, The Fall of Camelot, an original piece by Fontaine Malletier, was to be performed on September 17. And as the Opera Ghost had perished in the fire of 1870, there would be no ravishing on stage, or hangings, or chandeliers falling. The de Chagnys had assured them of the Phantom's grisly, yet not untimely, demise. So 1873 would be a good year for opera, or so everyone hoped.

However, Mme. Giry, the ballet corps director, was not so optimistic. She had her doubts about Erik's death; she knew him too well to assume that he would die so easily. However, she put on a happy face for everyone, and instructed her daughter Meg and her pretty young friends with a content face.

However, this story begins on July 10, two months before the Opera Populaire's first performance. The lead soprano, La Carlotta, was being as bratty as she always had been, although singing beautifully. The corps de ballet was dancing fine, except for a few who tripped up, and everything was going well. Until…

"Madame Giry?" a voice called from a stairway leading to the dressing room. Mme. Giry sighed edgily, signaled to the dancers to continue, and made her way to the stairs. A small girl, one of the seamstress's daughters if Mme. Giry was correct, was waiting for her on the steps.

"If you please, Madame," the child said timidly, "Someone left this for you in the dressing room." With that she held out an envelope; to most, a seemingly normal envelope. But for Antoinette Giry, time stood still as the girl's hand extended toward her.

The envelope was of cream-colored parchment, lined with dark crimson. On the front, in oddly childish letters were the words "Mme. Antoinette Giry". But the thing that stood out, the thing that made this seemingly harmless missive so ominous, was the seal; for the seal was no simple circle. It was a skull.

Little Babette would never know why Mme. Giry's face went white as she saw the letter, or why she snatched it away as if it might harm the girl. But Mme. Giry had good reason to be alarmed. She knew the Opera Ghost's trademark well. Thanking Babette, she darted up the stairs so that Meg or any of the girls saw the infamous death's head. With shaking hands, she opened the letter.

_My dear Madame Giry,_

_Congratulations! You are doing as well as you always have in your endeavors to teach those flighty young harlots. I am truly sorry, however, that Carlotta still reigns as prima donna._

_I digress. Would you please spare the time to meet me in your room after your rehearsal is finished? There are some matters that I wish to discuss with you._

_Signed,_

_Erik_

In that moment, Antoinette Giry's breath caught in her throat. Although she had been confident that Erik was alive and, hopefully, well, she had never thought that he would actually contact her. She had thought that maybe he would keep to himself, or maybe find a new opera house to terrorize. But he had come back…to the place that held his worst memory: one of heartbreak.

Why on earth had he returned?

Pondering over the enigma that was Erik, Mme. Giry returned to her pupils, the concern and strain not showing on her face.

Erik had been able to get into Mme. Giry's dressing room without being noticed by those insufferable chorus girls. He couldn't stand the lot of them, with their frilly bows and high-pitched, annoying giggles. He had hidden in the shadows until they passed, then picked the lock on his old friend's door and slipped inside.

The room was simple, but homey. The single, linen-covered bed had a canopy covering it. A small bookcase that also served as a night table stood next to the cozy bed. The only other piece of furniture was a mahogany desk with a small mirror. On the desk were various portraits, along with a blue glass vase that had a slightly wilted lily in it. A derelict chair accompanied it, and Erik sighed as he plopped into it to wait.

He knew he had not long to wait until she came; ballet practice was over at 7:00, andAntoinette would stop in her room before dinner at 8:00. However, it was 6:45, and Erik was getting bored. He glanced at the bookcase, and then turned away. He didn't share Mme. Giry's taste for cheap romance novels.

Sighing, he turned to the mirror and gazed at his reflection. The faint lamplight left his mask in shadow, and only his left side showed. He had to admit that the un-deformed half wasn't bad looking…in fact that side was rather handsome. He caught himself in the conceited thought and reminded himself of the horror that had earned him all the scars on his back.

Stretching back in the old chair, he noticed for the first time that one of the desk drawers was open. As he went to close it, he noticed that the only things in the drawer were three pictures. He hesitated for a moment, then, hoping Mme. Giry wouldn't mind, took them out to look at them.

The photographs seemed to be fairly recent, a few years ago at most. In the first one, a faraway horse stood in a field, looking away from the camera. A young girl sat on the horse, obviously laughing, telling from her eyes. For some reason, she was wearing a cuffed man's shirt and a pair of very loose pants. "Probably away from her mother's watchful eye." Erik thought out loud.

The second had what looked like a 13-year-old Meg Giry arm-in-arm with the girl from the first picture. The first girl was tall, around 5'7, and looked to be around 15, 16. Long, wavy, dark hair fell about the pretty, almost faerie-like face. The dark haired girl had her arm around a dark-haired boy, who was maybe in hislate teens. The black and white photograph showed their innocent happiness quite well, and Erik was almost jealous.

The third was just the dark-haired mystery girl, leaning against a tree. A loose white dress of some kind of light fabric flew about her, and her arms were crossed. She was staring straight at the camera, her eyes so innocent, so young, yet so…Erik struggled for a word…so oddly mature in that youthful face. A smirk was tugging at the corners of her lips; the gesture seemed familiar to him somehow. He was still staring at the girl when he heard a familiar voice say:

"You know, Erik, it's quite impolite to go through others' personal belongings."

Erik turned with a start to see Antoinette Giry leaning against the doorway, with an eyebrow raised. She had a slight smile on her face. "It's also rather rude to not even greet me after I've been standing here for two minutes."

Cursing himself silently for not hearing her open the door, and feeling rather guilty for looking at something that could've been personal, Erik gave a weak grin. "Hello, Antoinette…I'm sorry, the drawer was open, so I just...well, I'm a curious person."

"Oh, it's all right, those aren't personal." Mme. Giry interrupted, taking a quick glance at the pictures. "Those are just some pictures from our trip to my friend Geneva Laurent out in the country, six years ago. They're of Meg, Gabriel Laurent, and Nadia Laurent. Nadia's the one you were looking at." Mme. Giry gave a faint smile. "Gabe is off at some medicalschool in England, and Nadia…is indecisive about what she wants to doin her life."

Erik was quiet as Antoinette carefully slipped the pictures into the drawer and locked it. He was thinking about how lucky those children were, to be so happy. Of course, none of them were children now; Meg was 19, and the Laurent children were sure to be in their 20s.

"So..." Antoinette's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "What did you want to ask me about?"

"Oh...yes." Erik forgot all about the children as he turned his thoughts to business. "I've been...wanting...for money ever since that night a few years back." His tone was easy and casual, but a glance at his eyes told Antoinette that those memories of Christine still cut through him like a knife. "I need to know if these new managers, Ambler and Follett...I need to know if they'll supply me with my salary if I threaten them a bit."

Antoinette was silent for a moment, her eyes closed and her arms crossed. She let out a long sigh. "Yes..." she started, slowly and reluctantly. "Yes, I think they would. They have no wish for their opera house to be damaged after they just spent so much money on it...and they aren't the most strong-willed of men. Yes, I definitely think they would." she finished.

"Excellent!" The familiar half-smirk formed on Erik's face as he got up from the old chair and straightened his cloak. "Tonight I'll write a pleasant letter for them, then I'll deliver it to you in the morning, and-"

"No!" Antoinette's tone was harp and urgent. Erik stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her in surprise. She had always helped him with everything; why was she refusing now?

"I can't help you anymore, Erik." she said with difficulty. "Ambler and Follett may think I'm taking the money. I can't risk my job here, Erik! The Opera Populaire is the only place I've ever known! Meg would be heartbroken if we had to leave! I'm sorry, Erik..." She looked up at him. "I just can't help you anymore."

Erik looked at her for a moment, then looked at the floor. "Very well, Antoinette." he said in a business-like tone."I understand your situation. I'll find someone else to help me. You won't be seeing me again." Before Antoinette could call to him to wait, to tell him that she could think it over, he was gone.

It was midnight, and Erik was pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He had a serious problem, which he needed to solve before his clothes were threadbare and he was reduced to stealing from the opera's kitchens.

Who was going to help himextort the managers?

He needed a contact to go back and forth between him and the managers. But who? All of the ballet girls would turn him in, and he couldn't stand those whores they called chorus girls. The staff were always drunk. Who could he trust?

He twisted the large, expensive ring on his finger and glanced at a picture on the wall. The drawing showed a tall girl, maybe 16, standing with her arm held out. She wore a gorgeous wedding dress and veil, and her brown curls tumbled down her back. Doe-brown eyes filled with innocence and love stared at the artist, and a smile was on her ruby-red lips.

Erik closed his eyes tightly and started to tremble. If Christine was here, she would help him. But no, she had to go off with thatpoor excuse of a man, Raoul de Chagny. Raoul was perfecton_both _sides of his face! Raoul had saved her from the _monster in the mask_.

"I will have you, Christine." he choked out in a mixture of hatred and misery. "When you come back, I will have you as my own,evenif it's the last thing I do."


	2. An Arrival and An Occupation

**Disclaimer: This is the property of Leroux, Kay, Webber, and Schumacher. Not Moffett. In other words, not me.**

**To my lovely reviewers, of which there are four:**

**XxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Thank you so very much! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Amanda17: Well, I'd be talking to him on the phone inviting him over for "dinner"…lol…**

**Raoul's secret lover: Hello, poppet! Yes, of course I'm writing more…you know I'm addicted to those virtual parties! Go Erik, w00t!**

**andersm: Muchas gracias! Hope you enjoy this one! **

**Ok, sorry this took so long...my teachers are breathing down my neck for the work I owe them, and I can barely get on the computer. Happy St. Patrick's Day to everyone, and don't mind the extreme crappiness which is this chapter. Better things shall come soon. **

**Chapter 2 - An Arrival and An Occupation  
**

July 11 was the hottest day Paris had had in 13 years. Modesty was thrown to the winds by most; men went about in just their shirtsleeves, and women went out in the skimpiest things they owned. However, some suffered through the normal amount of layers, for fashion or for modesty.

Erik was looking around for likely partners-in-crime in the cool shadow of a sculpture in the gleaming gold lobby. The chubby, red-faced maids were sweating like mad as they scrubbed the steps, and Antoinette Giry was carrying on a conversation with Chantal Laroque, the lead alto. Chantal was one of the few pleasant divas in the world. However, she was playing the evil Morgan le Fay in the upcoming opera.

Erik heard a carriage pull up outside, and the door opened and closed. Footsteps treaded the stone steps outside, and he tried to guess who it could be. It couldn't be a man, for the footstep was too light. It couldn't be Carlotta, who was always late, because at least 5 of her attendants would be with her, and that infernal dog would be yapping like there was no tomorrow…and plus, he remembered, she had come in early today for a consultation of the decoration of her dressing room. He was pretty sure everyone else was at work today…who could it be?

The door slowly opened, with a blast of scorching air invading the lobby. A tall girl quickly walked in and shut the door behind her. Slowly, she turned around and gaped at the huge entrance hall. Erik could swear her jaw was almost brushing the floor.

Her dress was off the shoulder, but decently modest with its long sleeves. It was dark blue, with a full skirt trailing behind. It showed off her full figure well. Black hair was gathered into a messy bun, with a few strands hanging out. She held a slightly battered suitcase in one of her small hands, and in the other, she held an envelope.

Erik was intrigued. He knew every dancer, singer, and staff member in this place, and this girl was definitely not one of them. She was too tall to be a dancer, and too young to be replacing the head maid, who had been run over by Carlotta's carriage. That left him with two options: either she was going to join the group of demons, more commonly known as chorus girls, or she was going to be an assistant to someone. Still rather interested, he got closer to the scene.

The girl, after having gotten a full view of the glinting foyer, called out timidly, "Antoinette? Is that you?"

Mme. Giry turned around to see the girl standing there. A look of absolute delight broke out on her face. "Nadia! Nadia Laurent! Oh, dearest child, is it really you?" The older woman enveloped the girl in a huge embrace, which the girl happily returned.

The name was familiar to Erik. Where had he heard that name, seen that face? "_Of course!" _he thought, virtually slapping his forehead with his palm. That was the girl from the photograph he'd seen last night! "Idiot." He grumbled to himself. "You're worse than an old man…you just saw the girl last night, and you've already forgotten her."

While Erik was berating himself for his forgetfulness, the happy reunion was going along just fine. Nadia had been introduced to Chantal, who gave her a warm smile, then excused herself. She was just about to start telling Antoinette about how her family was doing when a look of confusion came on Antoinette's face. "Um…Nadia, not that I'm not delighted to see you, but…why are you here?"

"Oh…forgot about that." Nadia gave a sheepish grin. "Well, as you know, I've always been a decent singer. So, Mother finally let me come here to be a chorus girl! Of course, if that's all right with you, Antoinette." She said hastily, handing the letter to Mme. Giry. The woman took the note, read it through quickly, and then glanced at Nadia.

"It's fine with me, Nadia, but we'll have to consult the managers. If they think you're good enough, then you may stay." She said in a practical tone. "Come, I'll bring you to their office." The two women stepped lightly up the stairs, the younger one telling all about life at the Laurent manor.

Erik was just about to follow when the piercing notes of Carlotta's voice reached his ears. He winced. It looked like he was going to have to ruin yet another of the diva's rehearsals. Glancing regretfully after the two ladies, he quietly slipped through the theater's doors.

As Nadia was led through the halls of the Opera Populaire, she could hardly keep from jumping up and down for joy. She was finally here! She was finally at the place she'd always dreamed of living in! Of course, she'd never be a star, but making a career of singing was good enough for her. Of course, anything was better than having a line of eligible bachelors paraded past her at every social event she went to. Twenty-two was, in her parents' eyes, a perfect age to get married.

Also, her best friend, Meg Giry, worked here as a ballet dancer. Her friend Christine Daaé had worked here too, but she was married, with a baby girl. Besides that, that whole incident with the Opera Ghost had occurred. That was probably very traumatizing. Yet, in a way, it was pretty flattering to have a madman obsess over you.

At last, they reached the manager's office. An overwhelming odor of smoke filled the hallway outside, and Nadia coughed. When Antoinette opened the door, a cloud of cigar smoke emptied into the corridor. Nadia almost choked, but controlled herself as she walked inside after the ballet director.

The room was incredibly dingy compared to the grandeur outside. The curtains, which Nadia was guessing had once been white, were stained yellow, and tattered. The windows were grimy and streaked, as if someone had tried to clean them and given up. As for the room itself, papers were everywhere. Scattered on desks, chairs, the floor, anything with a flat surface. She also thought she saw a few wine bottles sticking out of drawers.

The managers themselves were nice enough; well-groomed and polite, even though they were partially hidden in a cloud of cigar smoke. They greeted the women cordially, than bade Nadia take a seat, which she politely declined.

"All right, Mademoiselle." Monsieur Ambler took a piece of paper out of a drawer. "We just have to conduct a little job interview first, and then you can be off. Name?"

"Nadia Adrienne Mallory Laurent." Nadia promptly replied, brushing the few dark strands of hair out of her face.

"Age?" Ambler's pen was scribbling furiously at the paper.

"Twenty-two."

"Former occupation?"

"None, sir."

"And you want to become a chorus girl, correct?" Ambler eyed the obviously nervous girl.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's hear you sing a bit, and you'll be all set." The other manager, Follett, took a long drag from his cigar and stared at her expectantly.

Nadia sang a few lines from the opera _The Magic Flute_. Mme. Giry looked approvingly as the girl sang, a smile on her lips. The girl's voice matched her appearance; it wasn't flashy, or overdone, but pretty in a modest sort of way. Her voice was an alto, but at times it leaned towards mezzo-soprano. She finished and looked timidly at the managers.

Follett and Ambler looked at each other briefly. Then Follett stood up and shook Nadia's hand. "Congratulatons, Mademoiselle." he said politely. "You're hired."

Nadia smiled, thanked the men politely, and exited. The managers had just settled down again when they heard a shriek.

"YES! _DidyouhearAntoinetteIgotitIgotit_! FINALLY!"

The managers glanced at each other again and smirked.

"Wait till she sees what she works with. Then we'll hear a different shriek." Follett chuckled.

**A/N: Yes, I know it was crappy, but it'll get better. I promise. In the next chapter, our friend Nadia will be meeting a few people, some friends, some...well, not. Once again, happy St. Patrick's Day! Farewell!**


	3. Of Possessions and Phantoms

**Disclaimer: This is the last disclaimer. I regretfully do NOT own Phantom of the Opera. If I did, I wouldn't need to be writing a fanfic, would I?**

**andersm: Thanks! Looks like I'm the only one who hates it!**

**PhantomsHeart: Hehe, my friend Sara/Sorcha wooped for him! Yes, he is a useless fop, but Sara adores him, and he's very cute in the movie…yet NOTHING compared to Erik! As for your hunch…mebbe…shifty-eyed**

**Countess Alana: Why, thank you, oh kind reviewer! Wow…I really underestimate myself!**

**XxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Thanks! My St. Patrick's Day is rather hectic so far, but it is SO good to be Irish!**

**Sara (aka Raoul's Secret Lover): HI SORCHA! Indeed, I did not forget the muffins! -gives you a blueberry muffin, Lisa a chocolate chip muffin, and leaves a plate full for all of my readers and reviewers-**

**I am SO sorry this took so long! I am a pathetic, lazy bum. I will try to do better in the future. Also, yet again I hate this chapter, but that's my low self-esteem talking again, so ignore that and continue reading.**

**Also, just so you all don't get confused, when Meg calls Nadia "Nadrily" and "Nadri", those are nicknames that will be explained in the next chapter. **

**Chapter 3 - Of Possessions and Phantoms  
**

"Well done, Nadia!" Mme. Giry wrapped her arms around Nadia for the second time in 10 minutes. "Meg will be so happy to know that you are here to stay! Let's go to the stage and see her, and I can introduce you to everyone as well!" Antoinette led her back through the hallways.

Nadia was happy. No, that wasn't the word; in ecstasy was a better way of putting it. She had just been hired at the famous Paris Opera house! Her luck was great lately. Father had gotten better from pneumonia, Gabe wasn't being such a pest, and she had become a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire! Life was just getting better and better!

She was so absorbed in how amazingly fortunate she was that she didn't notice when they got to the theater's doors. Antoinette slowly pushed them open and extended an arm.

"Welcome, Nadia," she said proudly. "To the Opera Populaire."

The girl was dumbstruck. She slowly walked forward, rapturously drinking in every sight she could. The theater was huge! From where she was the stage and the figures on it seemed small, but Nadia knew it must be enormous as well. Red velvet seats were everywhere, all looking so comfortable, just begging the fabulously wealthy to take a seat in their softness. Balconies up above were the boxes, she supposed, as they had seats in them as well. Golden statues clambered up the walls. Many of them were in such sensuous positions that it made her blush; she wasn't used to such blatant portrayals of intercourse.

But the frosting on the cake was definitely the chandelier. It was colossal, so bright and beautiful shining down on them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of gas-filled globes adorned it, making its golden form shimmer. Nadia stared, open-mouthed again at the wonder and the beauty of this place.

"Well?" Antoinette looked expectantly at the young woman. "What do you think?"

"I…can't put it into words." Nadia stammered. "It's how I imagined it only more...magnificent. Or perfect. Something along the lines of those."

"That's how many feel when they first come here." Antoinette had closed the door, and turned to her to give her a warm smile. "Come, let's go to the stage. They're rehearsing at the moment, but you can still meet some people and look around."

They walked down the long empty aisle, Nadia looking everywhere at once, trying to memorize each crevice and carving. As she looked up, she noticed one of the boxes above her. It had a perfect view of the stage; not too far, yet not too close. She looked away, then glanced back. She could have sworn she'd seen something moving in there. Shivering, she walked a little faster; it felt like she was being watched.

The corps de ballet was rehearsing as they got closer to the stage. "Meg!" Antoinette called. "We have a guest here. Would you like to say hello?"

The small blonde girl turned quickly, to give a polite curtsy, then stopped short. "Wait...Nadia?"

"Meg?" she whispered, barely believing that this was her friend. She looked so much more...mature. But that is how people do look after six years, she supposed.

The two shrieked simultaneously, Meg dashing backstage to get to the doors outside, and Nadia jumping up and down like she was insane (which, indeed, various family members said she was). After a moment or so, Meg burst out from one of the doors that were on either side of the stage.

"Nadia!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around the brunette. "Oh, Nadrily, I can't believe it's you! It's been forever! Longer than forever! Nadri, I...don't know why you're here. Why are you here, Nadri?" Meg broke apart from her friend, a slightly puzzled expression on her pretty face.

"Take a wild guess." the older girl laughed, swinging the battered suitcase around innocently.

Meg stood open-mouthed for a second, then whispered, "Wait...you can't be a dancer...you aren't the type for a staff job...oh no." She wrapped an arm around Nadia's shoulder. "Nadri...I'm happy that you're here and everything, but...well...let me show you your new...co-workers."

The two went back through the door Meg had came out of and climbed up the wooden stairs. Nadia gasped as they walked through the crowded halls backstage. It was a network of passages and hallways, all crowded with people. The hall led everywhere, from the stables to the roof. Once again, she did a silent scream of ecstasy. But what was Meg looking so sympathetic about?

After a few minutes of fighting their way through the warm, uncomfortably tight place, they reached a door, through which you could hear annoyingly high-pitched giggles. A voice said, or rather slurred, "That stableboy Phillipe wants me to meet him in my room tonight...I guess since Count Javier D'aubigne and his brother are out of town, I'll settle for him tonight."

"Oh, Amiee, I wouldn't be so silly!" a very high-pitched voice protested. "After that Marquis, I won't settle for anything except noble packages." More giggles. Shrieks of delight followed, when the first voice said, "Look at what I stole from the manger's office!" A loud sound of gulping filled the hallways.

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "So? They're drunken whores. Why should I... oh, _merde_..." she cursed, biting her lip. She glanced at Meg. "They're the other chorus girls, aren't they?" Meg looked at the ground and gave a small nod. Nadia cursed again, glaring at the dressing room door. "Will they harass me, do you think?" she questioned Meg, who was still staring at the floor.

"Probably." Meg sighed, looking sympathetically at her friend. "If you're not a whore, you don't fit in with them. I pity you."

Nadia was silent for a minute, staring at the door. Slowly, a smile came on her face. "Well, if I scare them off, maybe they won't..." she said, half to herself. She raised a hand to the door and knocked.

Inside everything went silent. "Come in." the first voice said tentatively. Nadia opened the door and peeked in. It was a pretty small room, and would be cozy if it were not for the overpowering odor of wine. Chorus girls were everywhere: lounging on the floor, draped over chairs, sitting on the table. All of them were staring at her.

She gave a timid smile. "Oh, um...hello...I'm Nadia Laurent. I'm new." All at once she was surrounded by a crowd of the girls, all welcoming and complimenting her. "Hello! You'll definitely love it here!" "I love your dress...we'll help you work on your hair!" "You'll have a lot of fun here if you put your "mind" to it."

Soon she was seated, and everyone was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to start a conversation. Meg had edged her way in, and was leaning against a door, silently begging her to end the welcome party and get out.

"Um, before we start working together, and sharing a dressing room and stuff, I just need to warn you about something." Nadia looked around gravely. "I get possessed by the devil at times."

The room was silent, except for Meg masking a giggle with a cough. The girl Amiee raised an eyebrow. Did you just say you get-"

Nadia cut her short. She grabbed her own neck with one hand, her eyes rolled back into her head, her tongue was sticking out, and she was hacking and wheezing. All the chorus girls shrieked, and Meg was laughing so hard she was crying, unheard in all the noise.

It finally ended, the chorus girls as far away from Nadia as possible. Nadia smoothed her dress out demurely. "Well, that was a good example." she smiled at the shaking girls. "I must be off, now...I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow!" She pretended to twitch, and they all drew back. With that, she left.

"Oh my God, Nadri, that was priceless! What made you think of it?" Meg collapsed in laughter, leaning against the wall for support. "I got it from a friend. She go a crick in her neck one day, and she looked like that. It was hilarious, yet incredibly odd-looking. So I used it on those morons." The older girl put the stray hairs behind her ears. "So...is there anywhere for me to put my bag? I want to look around, and I don't want to lug it around the whole opera house."

"Did the managers assign you a room?" Meg said breathlessly, straightening the leotard and skirt she wore for ballet practice. Nadia shook her head. "Alright, that means you can pick your own...let's see...where's there a spare room?" Meg stood in thought for a few minutes. Nadia, tired of her hair getting in her way, let it loose to redo it. The long wavy locks fell down to her lower back; a fact that Nadia was proud of, but it was rather a hassle to comb and wash.

"I got it!" Meg said trumphantly, grabbing Nadia's hand and dragging her down the hall and up a flight of stairs. They arrived in a quiet, narrow hallway, with only a few doors. Meg brought her to the very end and opened the last door with a key from her pocket. "These are all rooms no one uses anymore." she explained as she turned the key in the lock. "You'll see why in a moment."

The room was nothing special. It had a white bed at one end, a desk at the other, and a full-length mirror against the wall directly opposite from the bed. Nadia walked in and dropped her bag on the bed. "Well...it's small, but it's nice." she said curiously, glancing around. "Why doesn't anyone use these rooms anymore?"

Meg rose her eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you would've guessed! Nadia, this is Christine's old room, from before she substituted for Carlotta."

Nadia was silent. Christine was a friend of hers, from childhood, and she still kept contact with her. She had seen her in the spring, and babysat their baby girl Leala for her and her husband Raoul. Christine had told her every detail about the Phantom and her lessons with him. She knew that he had spoken to her through her mirror. She stared at the mirror, which now instead of seeming like a nice decoration, seemed almost menacing.

"Meg...what about the Opera Ghost?" she questioned in a low voice. "What if..." "Oh, Nadia, he's dead, everyone knows that! Even Mother admits it!" Meg pulled her friend's arm. "Now come on! I'll give you the grand tour. No one knows this place better than me." With that they left.

**vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv**

Erik, of course, had seen the entire thing. In fact, he had been following the girls since Meg practically leaped off the stage to see her friend. He'd been watching through the mirror when Nadia showed her fear of him. He smiled slightly. He'd found the solution to his problem.

He was about to return home when he stopped himself. The girl had no reason to just accept his request to deliver his messages. She could refuse, or leave. That would be a lose-lose situation. He didn't think threats would work too well, either. She could easily leave, or dismiss it. But he knew that this girl was the kind of person he needed. How could he convince her?

Slowly, his chracteristic smirk spread across his face. He strolled down the passageway to his lair, an idea forming in his cunning mind.

**vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv**

Nadia had had an exciting, fast-paced day. She had met the ballerinas, who were nice but rather superficial, the seamstresses, who were very kind and jolly, and the stableboys, who had spent a bit too much time staring below her and Meg's necks. Carlotta Guidacelli, the lead soprano, and Eleanora Bianchi, the lead mezzo, didn't spare her a passing glance, but Chantal Laroque, the lead alto who she had met before, welcomed her warmly. Chantal had made her promise to come to her if she had any problems with anything.

The woman collapsed on her bed, wincing as she twisted her back in an odd position. She opened her bag, taking out her nightgown, a silky blue robe, and a hairbrush. She sighed as she sniffed the slight smell of roses that her hair always left on the brush. The smell reminded her of the garden her mother tended at home. She shook her head, quickly got changed into the nightgown, and slipped into the robe.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at herself inthe ornate mirror. Letting her hair loose around her shoulders, she shivered. She'd just felt a cold breeze, which was odd, because the one small window in her room was cold. She shook her head. "Nadia, don't let all that nonsense about that madman get to you." she chided herself as she ran the comb through her dark tresses. "It'll drive you insane. Or more than you are..."

She finished quickly and hopped up from the bed. She felt energy pouring through her. "That cake after dinner must have been loaded with sugar." she thought, glancing at her shining eyes in the mirror. She sat back down, trying to force herself to be tired. Then it hit her: whenever she sang, it calmed her down. Slowly she started to sing a song that she'd heard Christine sing once when she thought she was alone.

_Angel of music, guiding guardian,  
Grant to me your glory...  
Angel of music, hide no longer,  
Secret and strange angel..._

All of a sudden, she heard a loud bang from the room next to hers. She jumped up, about to run and see if the room's occupant was all right, but stopped herself. There were no other occupants in this hallway; no one used it anymore. So who could it be?

Once again, she shook her head, trying to banish her fears, but as she turned to slip into her bed, she heard a creak, as if a door opening, and then a slight snap. Trembling, she turned around to face the mirror, praying that it wasn't who she thought it was...

A tall man stood there, his presence itself imposing. His clothes were those of someone at least comfortable in the sense of money; a glance at the silken cravat and expensive leather gloves told her that. But the thing that instantly caught her eye was the mask that covered the right side of his face. It was white, made out of porcelain, and contrasted with his slicked-back black hair. His visible eyebrow raised, and he gave her a slight smirk, that would've been charming if it wasn't so menacing. He gave an elaborate bow.

"Welcome, Mademoiselle Laurent." he said in a low voice. "I'm quite glad to meet you."


	4. Deal with the Devil

**andersm: Yes, indeed Erik does! Hopefully you'll like this chappie.**

**Sochra (aka Raoul's secret lover): 'Ello, love! Thank you for enjoying my crap...I HAD to do a cliffie, Sara...authors LOVE to do cliffhangers! They're fun! See ya sometime during or after vacation!**

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: lol, everyone loves Erik! YAY! **

**phantomgoddess34: Thanks so much! You'll see how Nadia reacts to Erik in just a moment!**

**Phantomforever: Thanks! I always have chances to update, it's just the fact that I'm a lazy bum, and that I get writer's block frequently. **

**Ok, please read the following note: After this chapter, I might have a little writers block. I know exactly what's gonna happen in later chapters, but what goes in between is rather difficult. So don't be mad if I stall for a week or so. The only reason I'm writing is because when I was listening to Maroon 5 in the depths of despair last night, they gave me an Aha moment. **

**Also, I think Erik is horribly OOC in this. Maybe it's just me. But if you think so, tell me how I can get him back to his awesome self. Also, does Erik have a last name? I know Leroux doesn't mention one, but did Kay? Also, can someone tell me where I can find the basics of the most well-known King Arthr story that has Morgan le Fay in it? Thanks in advance to anyone who bothers to help me with these!  
**

**Chapter 4 - Deal with the Devil  
**

For a moment, Nadia just stood there with a blank stare.She knew she probably looked like an idiot, standing there with her mouth agape, but at the moment,her head was swirling with thoughts:

_"Oh crap...I'm in trouble! I knew it was a bad idea for Meg to give me this room! Stupid Meg...stupid Christine! She and Raoul lied to everyone! God damn them to the ninth circle of hell! Hmmm...he's not half-bad looking for a psychotic murderer. What! What am I thinking! The famous Phantom of the Opera is standing in front of me, about to murder me or rape me or God knows what, and I am judging his facial features? Oh, Lord..."_

All this passed through her mind in a few seconds. Getting up her courage, she opened her mouth to speak. An odd squeaking noise came out instead. The man smirked.

"Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?" He took a step forward. Nadia instinctively took a step back. He kept advancing, she kept retreating. As she passed her open bag on the bed, she eyed the small dagger she always brought everywhere with her. Stealthily, she picked it up and hid it behind her back.

Soon she was up against the wall next to her bed, and the man was only a few feet away from her. She finally found her voice and said quietly, with an aggravating tremble in her voice, "Keep away, or I'll...do...something really bad." _"Great job, moron."_ she berated herself. _"He'll be sure to take you seriously now..."_

"Ah! She does have a voice! But, of course, I already knew that." The man, ghost or whatever he was crossed the short space between them. They were so close that Nadia could see every detail of his face, and could smell the odd, delicious aroma that surrounded him. She doubted if there was even an inch of air between them.

"What," he breathed in her ear, making her shiver not all unpleasantly, "could a mere girl do to me even if she tried?"

Now, Nadia's weak point was being called, well, weak. She knew she was most certainly not weak, and hated to be judged so because of her sex. She had never been a tomboy, it was just the fact that she wasn't girly. So that was why she whipped the dagger out from behind her back.

Before she even had a chance to do anything with it, however, he had caught her wrist and pinned it against the wall. He gave that oddly terrifying smirk again. "My point exactly." he said calmly, amusement in his tone. Thankfully, he moved away, putting Nadia at her ease. It didn't look as if he was going to rape her...or kill her. But why was he here?

"Miss Laurent, I beg your pardon for bursting in like this." The phantom announced, turning to face her, the cloak swirling around him. "But I have a small, trifling favor to ask of you. It's nothing much, really, just a job that I need done."

"And why, monsieur," Nadia found herself saying almost calmly, "could you not have picked someone else?"

"For a variety of reasons. Some I don't trust, some I don't know, some I don't like. The ones I do trust can no longer assist me, or they have left, or they have died in tragic carriage accidents. And just as I was looking for help, here comes an apparently intelligent, charming, lively little girl who is completely oblivious of any danger there is to be had at this place."

"Excuse me, monsieur, but I was not oblivious to anything! I, and everyone else here, was under the impression that you were dead. Oh, I am going to kill that girl." she muttered the last words under her breath, looking away from the phantom.

"In other words, oblivious. But I'm getting off track. I need someone to be a... go-between, I suppose you could call it. In other words, I write a letter to the managers, give it to you, you give it to them, they give you a reply, you bring the reply back to me."

She was speechless for a moment, staring at him with the utmost dislike. "You expect me to put my job on the line just so you can get a nicer cravat with your salary that you'd get for being a menace? Do you think me completely stupid? Or insane? I wouldn't do that for most people, let alone you! Not only do I not know you, but you're known for being a psychotic madman! I'm sorry, but you're on your own."

She turned away, hoping he'd see that that was the end of the conversation and leave. Instead, she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. Once again, the phantom was too close for comfort, and she was quite close to either a panic attack or to falling under that aggravating seductive spell that he seemed to cast on everyone...even men. That part was rather odd.

"Nadri...that's your nickname, isn't it?" the Phantom whispered in her ear.

"Yes...it's for Nadia Adrienne...my brother made it up." _"Did I miss something?"_ she thought to herself. _"Why on earth would he want to know my nickname?"_

"Well, Nadri, I have a propisition for you. I heard you singing, and that gave me an idea, and if you're wise, you'll accept. If you agree to be my messenger, I will give you voice lessons. Not just any voice lessons, mind you. Christine Daaé took her lessons from me, and if she had stayed at the Populaire, she would be the lead soprano instead of that dying cat we have now." Nadia gave a slight smile, remembering Carlotta's inhuman shrieks when she hit the high notes at practice today.

"Just think of it, Nadia." His head was on her shoulder now, and he was breathing every word into her ear. "Nadia Laurent, the Populaire's lead alto. Stepping into your dressing room after an opening performance and having the scent and sight of baskets and baskets of roses assault your senses. Having a long and successful career here, and even after you retire to your beautiful country mansion, your name is still respected and admired, and every little chorus girl wants to be you. Just accept my offer, and all that could become a reality. But if you don't...well, you'll probably be a background singer for the rest of your life. It's your choice."

Nadia weighed the pros and cons. She'd be getting voice lessons from a wonderful teacher, but that teacher was the renowned Opera Ghost. She'd be on the road to fame, but she could be fired at any moment if the managers suspected she was taking the money. And what if this man was cheating her somehow? What if he would never come up with his side of the bargain, and she'd still be forced to be his messenger? What if he killed her in a fit of rage? She stepped away from him and turned towards him.

"I will deliver your messages for you for a short period of time." she said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. "If either of us are unhappy with the way things are going after a month, then you'll have to find a new messenger, and I'll have to be content with the background. If we're both all right with it after that, then...you'll have a messenger as long as you need one. Do we have an agreement?" She held out her hand. He stared at her for a moment, then took it and gave it a brief shake.

"I suppose that's all right." he muttered. "As for your lessons, come here every night at 8:00, and don't tell anyone about them."

"I know that! I'm really not that stupid." She protested, but he had already disappeared. She flopped down on her bed, staring at the canopy above her. For a long time she was silent, but then she said to herself, "I just sold my soul to the devil."


	5. Reflections

**andersm: Spunky! I never thought of that word to describe her! Thank you for your compliments, and for being my first reviewer once again!**

**Phantomforever: Thank you! Hope you like this chappie!**

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: .hands you the Golden Muffin of Gratitude. Thanks, Mrs. Destler :) I appreciate your help muchly.**

**phantomgoddess34: Thanks! I tried not to make Nadia some girl afraid of her shadow like some charries you see. I think they'd make a cute couple too, but, then again, I'm the author. Much thanks!**

**Kristiana Marie: .hands you another Golden Muffin of Gratitude. Thanks a lot! By the way, Kristiana's an awesome name. Is it really your name, or did you make it up for your signature?**

**wingedfirefly: Thanks! I'm so glad you liked it!**

**Ok, lovelies! First of all, I'd just like to say THANK YOU! When I saw all the compliments and encouragement, I had the biggest smile I've had in years. As a matter of fact, the people in the library were staring at me...BUT, who cares? Thank you for encouraging me to continue to write my worthless drabble!**

**Second of all, I have gotten over my writer's block for the moment, but it likes to return and slap my muse around quite often. Plus, it's Easter break for me (Happy belated Easter for all who celebrate!), and I'm trying to relax. But I will try to come on as often as possible. Au revoir for now, and enjoy!**

**Chapter 5 - Reflections  
**

Erik pushed his boat off the shore. His encounter with the girl Nadia hadn't gone quite as planned. She was supposed to be terrified of him, just like everyone else in that place was...or most, not counting Antoinette. But it seemed she had some courage to try and knife him like that. And she had some sense too, because she didn't immediately accept his deal, but instead told him, with much confidence, that she was only going to try it out. That had been quite a surprise.

Actually, once he thought about it, she had been scared in the beginning. When she had been stepping away from him, a look at her eyes told him she was terrified. And when he had advanced so close to her, just before she decided to try and stab him, her eyes had gone so wide he'd thought they'd pop out of the sockets. When he had whispered in her ear, she had started to shiver, but then again right after that she had whipped out a dagger. For some reason, right in the middle of his offer, he'd noticed that she smelled vaguely of roses. He liked roses, but Christine liked the scent of the delicate flower honeysuckle better.

This girl was quite different from Christine, he thought to himself as he rowed himself closer and closer to his home. Not only in looks, for they were quite different in that area. Christine had an innocent, wide-eyed look, with almost ethereal features, and those long, chocolate-brown curls tumbling down her back. Meanwhile, this Nadia looked like what he'd always imagined a fairy would look like: pretty, but not gorgeous, with a sparkle in her eyes, and wavy black tresses. But she was different from his angel in many more ways as well.

First of all, she was a brave girl. Christine, although beautiful and kind, had been rather faint-hearted, to put it kindly. When he had been showing her around his home, and she had seen the sculpture he'd made of her, she'd fainted. Most people didn't faint when they saw their likeness, even if it was incredibly lifelike. He'd had to pick her up and carry her to the swan bed he had had made for her. Of course, he hadn't complained. He'd gotten to carry his gorgeous one true love, even if the circumstances were rather odd.

Second of all, he thought as he leaped out of the boat and sat down at his organ, Nadia was probably not the kind to fall for his many tricks. Christine, lovable and perfect as she was, was quite gullible. He could understand a child believing in her "Angel of Music", but a grown woman? Most people would have been very suspicious after 9 years of lessons from someone who never showed their face. And she really should have realized the connection between the Opera Ghost and the Angel of Music long before everything happened.

He fingered the organ's keys lovingly. Christine, his muse, his inspiration, his perfect, flawless angel! How he longed that her choice had been different, or even that he had forced her to stay and killed that foolish boy. Once again, his eyes closed tightly as he shook with anger and anguish. His own mother, that useless whore, couldn't love him, and he'd expected Christine to? That idiot viscomte, with his clothes and hair always perfectly in place, would of course be the logical choice instead of him. Why had he even hoped for the child's love?

No one could ever love him.

* * *

Nadia woke up in severe pain. She had a raging headache, and she had twisted her back somehow in the night. She had kicked all the covers off the bed, and had had horrible nightmares, which she couldn't quite remember. However, she had the strangest feeling that these things weren't her only problems. 

Groggily, she staggered over to her small window and peered outside. The sky was that dark blue that isn't the night's blue, but heralds the coming of dawn, so she figured she didn't need to rush to get ready for her first day of work. As she shuffled back to her bed, she glanced at the gilded mirror, still trying to remember exactly why she felt so miserable.

And then it hit her.

She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at that horrible mirror which led to that lunatic's home so far below the Opera's floors. How did she seem to get herself into these messes? Everywhere she went, she seemed to attract trouble. But of course, never this much trouble. Really, she thought to herself, there's not much more trouble than having the Phantom of the Opera decide to pop out of your mirror and say, "Hello! You're going to deliver messages for me, and I'll give you voice lessons! Won't that be fun? It better be, or I'll hang you from the chandelier. Cheerio!" Exit Phantom.

Erik, she believed Christine had said was the man's name. The name fitted him, she thought as she stared at her bed's canopy. The name Erik had always conjured thoughts of swirling darkness, eyes that pierced your soul with their burning intensity, that annoying self-confidence that could be seen in every movement...

It described him perfectly.

Christine had spoken of him with tears shining in her large eyes. She admitted that she cared for him; but she couldn't love him. She was grateful that he'd saved her from the crushing solitude of her first years at the Populaire, but she couldn't be a wife or a lover to the temperamental legend. When she had told of the deformity that his white porcelain mask covered, she couldn't even put it into words; she had just shivered, and one of the tears that had lingered in her eyes for the entire story escaped down her pale cheek.

Nadia remembered the variety of feelings she had had last night: the fear when the renowned phantom had emerged from her mirror, the anger when he had scorned her, the triumph when she had seen that look of surprise on his face when she had not acted like a frightened kitten. But the feeling that stood out the most in her memory was that treacherous tingle she had felt, first when he had been so close to her and had been staring down at her with that threatening smirk, then when he had had his hands on her shoulders and had been whispering in her ear.

Of course, Christine had told of his seductive spell. All who had seen him at the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ had felt that overpowering enchantment. So, thank goodness, it wasn't just her.

Maybe, she thought, as her eyelids drooped and she felt sleep slowly overtake her, this whole go-between thing won't be so bad. Maybe he'll be rather nice to me, or at least cordial, and he won't have too many demands, and he'll help me along the road to fame...

With those thoughts swirling about her head, she dozed off, with dawn's first golden rays streaming onto her face.


	6. Important Note to You All

**An Important Note For All My Readers**

**I'm incredibly sorry, everyone, but there's going to be a temporary discontinuation of Sweet Surrender. It just isn't working out the way I want it to. When I rediscover my muse for it, which I hope will be soon, I will start again. If I can't at all, I'll post another message here.**

**In the meantime, if you liked my drivel and you want to read some more, I'm going to be posting a new story called "The Phantom of Broadway", if any of you are interested. This doesn't mean I won't have time for Sweet Surrender, it just means that I had a pretty good idea.**

**Best wishes to you all, and remember, all of you in school: only a few more weeks until the torture ends! Au revoir!**


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